Owner Comments:
The complex and heartbreaking nature of the scene depicted makes this one of the most difficult Soho Mint medals to write up. Nonetheless, it serves as a reminder of a tragic chapter in French history. Oddly enough, this was the first medal Küchler produced for the Soho Mint, and it appears he completed the work quickly. On May 25th, 1793, Küchler sent Boulton a sketch of his proposed design, and by July 6th, we see that Boulton was charged £30 for his work completing the dies (Pollard, 1970). When the Soho Mint was dismantled and the contents sold in 1850, the auction contained several examples of this type. More importantly, lot 212 consisted of two pairs of dies and one pair of punches for this medal. To this end, restrikes may exist, but I do not know of them. According to Tungate (2020), only 423 of these medals were struck. This particular example has retained its original silver-lined brass shells since its creation over 220 years ago.
General Introduction:
One only needs to take a cursory glance to realize that the French Revolution is a far more complex historical event than what is typically portrayed in classical education. Notable scholars still debate the underpinnings, intent, and consequences of the French Revolution, and it appears that no settlement on those discussions is likely to conclude soon. All this is to say that any attempt to provide a truly holistic view of the French Revolution is far beyond the scope of this set. Instead, I plan to focus on the events depicted by the medals produced at the Soho Mint. In total, this narrow scope will account for three pieces. The current medal depicts the king’s final farewell to his family before his execution. In this write-up, I intend to reiterate the tenderness of that moment by exploring the final months of the king’s life, including the hardships suffered by the entire royal family. Beyond a passing mention, I intend to forgo any discussion of the events that proceeded their imprisonment, the king’s trial, or his actual execution. These details will be covered briefly in the write-up for the other relevant Soho medals depicting scenes from the French Revolution.
The story below follows a tragic chapter in the lives of several notable people. King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette need no introduction. However, their children are far less notorious, so it seems necessary to introduce them here. The eldest child, Marie-Therese, was born on December 19th, 1778. As we will see, this date will prove a painful reminder to the king during his incarceration. As the eldest and only surviving daughter, the young princess is known colloquially as Madame Royal. In 1781 the queen gave birth to a boy named Louis-Joseph, the first dauphin and heir to the French throne, but tragically he passed away in 1789. Consequently, the title of dauphin transferred to their second son, Louis-Charles, upon his birth on March 27th, 1785. It is worth noting that the queen gave birth to a fourth child in 1786, but she passed away before her first birthday.
The last person to be introduced is Jean-Baptiste Cléry, a royal servant to the dauphin who later became the valet de chambre to Louis XVI. As explained by Cléry, despite numerous hardships and the scrutinizing watch of his captors (e.g., municipals, guards, etc.), he was able to take notes of the events that transpired during his tenure as a prisoner alongside the royal family. These notes would eventually be organized as a journal and published for the world to read. Although his work is of great historical value, it is not without prejudice. Upon reading his work, it is clear that he was a staunch royalist and, by his own account, seemingly built a special bond between himself and the entire royal family. To this end, one must view his words with a degree of speculation as they are no doubt aimed to solicit a bit of sympathy for the hardships faced by those he served. Of course, this is not to say that any sympathy is undeserved, as the treatment afforded to the family was, in many ways, inhumane and overtly cruel.
Royal Prisoners
Although the night of August 10th, 1792, technically marks the incarnation of the royal family, this write-up begins on August 13th. On this date, the family was officially imprisoned at the petite tower of the Temple (i.e., the Tower). By most accounts, the Tower was an old building dating back to the 12th century that had fallen into disrepair. Nonetheless, the royal family was afforded some degree of luxury in the early days of their incarnation. For instance, they were provided means of self-entertainment (e.g., books and supplies for needlework), good meals, walks in the gardens, and several servants. Although their initial treatment was hospitable, their status as prisoners was undeniable.
The comfort of the royal family would take a significant blow in the early days of September. The Paris Commune continued to accumulate power, and as a result, their efforts to squash royalist affections intensified. September 2nd marked an important day in their efforts as they began interrogating and subsequently trying overt royalists with crimes against the state. The already incarnated servants to the royal family were easy targets, and they were transferred to La Force before being tried. Among them was Princess Lamballe. Her status likely sealed her fate, but her close friendship with Marie Antoinette, who at the time was arguably the most despised person in France, certainly added fuel to the fire. Although the story of her death conjures up tales of graphic violence of every type, the result is always the same. Her decapitated head was placed on a pike, and her nude body was drug by a crowd of people through the streets with a specific and heinous mission.
Unaware of the horror that just befell Princess Lamballe and many others, the royal family went about their day. While dining, their meal was cut short in response to the unrelenting beat of drums and shouting from a large crowd that had gathered outside their prison. Per their routine, the family retired to the queen’s room for the evening. The few servants who remained, mainly Cléry, retired downstairs to eat dinner. During their meal Princess Lamballe's head was raised to the window. One of the servants screamed out in terror. This scream was mistaken for the queen's, and the crowd cheered in celebration. Cléry (1798) reports that the mob positioned the head in the window so that it could not be obscured from view. It is at this time that he was able to observe that “
though bloody it”, meaning Princess Lamballe’s head, “
was not disfigured, her blond hair, still curling, floated around the pike”. This paints a rather horrific picture. One can only imagine how gut-wrenching that sight must have been, but it is not hard to understand how much more intense this would have been for the king or queen, considering their connection to the princess. It was only because of the strong stance taken by their captors that they were spared this misfortune.
Leading up to this, a rumor was spread that the king and queen were no longer incarcerated at the Tower. In response, the crowd gathered below to see for themselves. Eventually, a deputation was formed and tasked with entering the Tower to investigate, which was permitted by the municipals to quell the ever-growing crowd surrounding them. A struggle ensued as the crowd, with the naked body of Princess Lamballe in tow, was determined to enter the Tower alongside the deputation. The guards held off the invasion, and the deputation proceeded upstairs to address the family. Under the careful watch of the municipals, the deputation urged the king and especially the queen to peer over the edge of their balcony so that the crowd could be reassured of their continued residence at the tower. This request was refused by the municipals. Cléry (1798) notes that one of the deputies protested the municipals' rejection of their request and crassly asserted that they only did so because they did not want the queen to see the decapitated head of Princess Lamballe. Upon hearing this, the queen reportedly fainted, and the children started to sob. Having completed their objective, the deputation left. Although the psychological torment of that day likely lasted for the rest of their lives, the mob would eventually dissipate, and with it, the threat of the family being massacred that night.
The Royal Routine – A blessing or a curse?
The events of September 3rd were tragically horrific, but the days that followed were relatively calm. This afforded the family the opportunity to settle into something that more or less resembled a routine. The day-to-day actions of the royal family are not inherently interesting, but a breach of royal protocol born out of necessity arguably brought the family closer together. In consequence, the final farewell depicted on the current medal was made a much more tender moment than it might have been otherwise. Luckily for us, Cléry (1798) provides a highly detailed description of the routine from his perspective during his tenure in service to and shared imprisonment with the royal family.
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By Cléry’s account, the king would rise at 6 AM, prepare for the day, and then proceed to the reading room, where he would pray for several minutes before pursuing a book of his choice until breakfast with the family. All members of the royal family, but especially the king, were under constant surveillance without break. As explained, the reading room was too small to sit two people, so the doors had to remain open while at least one municipal stood watch without so much as breaking his sight of the prisoner. As time progressed, this would become an increasingly hostile situation for the king. During this time, Cléry would help the other family members prepare for their day. Breakfast would be served every morning at 9 AM. After breakfast, the family would retire to the queen’s quarters at around 10 AM. In a breach of royal protocol, the king would spend hours attending to his son’s education while the queen tended to their daughter’s. This would last until 1 PM. The family would then go on walks through the gardens to get fresh air and a bit of needed exercise for the two young children. Although accompanied by no less than four municipals and the captain of the National Guard of Paris, these walks served as a much-appreciated escape from the harsh reality of their situation. At least in the beginning. The family would return to the Tower for lunch at 2 PM. For the next couple of hours, the family would eat while all of their rooms were searched by the Commanding General of the National Guard of Paris and two of his aids-de-champ. These activities took a lot of time as the next activity listed by Cléry is the king's nap at 4 PM. During which the children would read silently by his bedside. Once awake, the king would supervise writing lessons given to the dauphin by Cléry. Once the dauphin finished, the entire family would sit together while the queen and Madame Élisabeth would take turns reading aloud to the family. This would continue until roughly 8 PM when the children ate dinner and prepared for bed. The queen led the young dauphin in prayer and then joined her husband for dinner at around 9 PM. Following dinner, the king would say goodnight to his family before returning to the reading room until midnight. With slight variations, this routine would largely hold until the end of September.
As one may have noticed, the family spent a great deal of time together, and even more notable is the time and involvement of the king in the education of the dauphin throughout the majority of September. As king, royal protocol and the duties of his office would not have allowed either of these two things to normally occur. The incarnation of the family essentially gave rise to an environment where royal protocol was somewhat irrelevant in a number of respects. Rather tragically, the family would take comfort in the time they spent together and find joy in their mutual activities, but these would be slowly and painfully torn away. As time progressed, their captors became more overt in their displeasure with the king. Cléry (1798) notes that at one point, a guard had written “
the guillotine is permanent, and is awaiting the tyrant, Louis XVI” on the king’s door. Upon Cléry’s attempt to remove it, the king refused, and from what I can gather, it remained. The king caught the brunt of the abuse, but that is not to say that the rest of the family made it out unscathed.
Many of the activities that the family had come to enjoy came under attack. For instance, the guards took the family walks through the gardens as a chance to taunt the entire family (Cléry, 1798). They were greeted in the stairwell with engravings calling for the murder of the entire family, or depicting other graphic and obscene scenes. The guards would laugh at the slightest reaction and hurl insults. Once outside, the artillery men would organize to sing revolutionary songs in hopes of provoking a response. Robbing the joy from the walks was not enough for their captors. Next, they set their eyes on making life even more miserable within the confines of the Tower. To this end, the municipals enforced decrees that removed tools used by the family to entertain themselves (e.g., pens, paper, needlework supplies, etc.). The only form of entertainment that remained constant during their incarnation was the thousands of books at their disposal. This point is further highlighted by Cléry’s claim that the king read over 250 volumes during his tenure at the Tower. Nonetheless, the family still spent a considerable amount of time together, and the removal of these items only led them to find other creative ways to cope with their bleak situation.
A New Level of Depravity
Despite their captors’ efforts to turn the events that the family had once enjoyed into painful reminders of their situation, the family still found comfort in each others company. I imagine this was unacceptable to those who wished to see the king and queen suffer. To this end, they missed no opportunity to witness an emotional response from either in the event of developing news. One such instance was the announcement of the abolition of royalty, during which several visitors came to announce the news in person in hopes of catching a glimpse of displeasure among the king or queen. When these antics failed, they resolved to threaten the very thing that provided the king comfort - being with his family.
As noted by Cléry (1798), September 29th proceeded like any other day until around 9 PM. At this time, the municipals informed the king that he would be separated from his family. No reason was given, even upon request. The king, noticeably and understandably distraught, offered his first farewell to his family, fully aware of the fact that it could be his last. This is a point well understood by his family and likely added to their mutual despair. The king was transferred to the Main tower of the prison along with Cléry. The following morning Cléry notes that he went about his routine helping the king prepare for the day before heading off to do the same for the rest of the family; however, he was refused entry to the petite tower. In his journal, he notes that the guard told him “
you are to have no communication with other prisoners, nor your master either, he is to never see his children again”. It is not hard to imagine that this must have been a gut-wrenching message to receive and a difficult one to later deliver to the king. At 9 AM, the usual breakfast time, without luck the king petitioned the municipals to see his family. The queen and the children are far more successful in their pleas, and the municipals give in. At first, this was a temporary arrangement until they received further orders, but they never came. In the meantime, the family would remain separated, and the only considerable time they were allowed to spend together occurred when they were dining or walking through the gardens. The king was permitted to continue to oversee the dauphin’s education, but he remained under the queen’s care, which provided her great comfort. Things would change again on October 26th when the family was once again reunited under the same roof. Of course, the queen was given little time to enjoy this news as it was closely followed by the removal of the dauphin to his father’s care. This was devastating to the queen. This distress was only magnified when the prince fell ill with a fever, and the queen was denied access to care for him throughout the night. Eventually, this fever would pass to the entire family and Cléry, but all would recover.
An All but Certain Fate
Leading up to December, the family would still endure their captors’ malignant attempts to rob them of their last scraps of hope and joy. The one source of comfort came from their shared experience as a family, but this was constantly under threat. As detailed by Cléry (1798), December 11th marked the day that this threat would become a devastating reality. Although their clandestine operations afforded them a warning of the events that would unfold that day, I can imagine that it still struck terror throughout them all. A large group of soldiers, including cavalry and cannons, organized in the garden of the Tower by 5 AM. Doing their best to remain stoic, the royal family continued their routine as they would have on any other day in November. While the king is giving the dauphin his reading lesson for the day, a group of municipals entered and informed the king that his son is to return to the care of his mother. When the king protested and asked for a reason the municipals refused to give one. It is not difficult to imagine how anxiety-provoking this must have been for the king, but this was compounded by the extensive time he waited before he received any updates from his captors. The king would eventually be escorted to the National Convention by the Mayor of Paris, who intended to request that the king be permanently separated from his family – a request that was all but guaranteed to be granted. Upon the king’s return to the Tower, he requested to see his family, which was promptly denied. Likewise, his request to oversee the care of the dauphin as he had done since October 26th, was also denied. To this end, it appeared that the rumors of him never seeing his family again were true.
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Despite rejection at every turn, the king remained persistent, and the following morning he enquired about dining with his family. That request was also denied. Later that evening, the king would be presented a decree informing him that his trial had been initiated and that he had a right to counsel. Remaining steadfast in his mission to be reunited with his family, he requested a direct response from the National Convention on the subject, which would deliver yet another devastating blow on December 15th. At this time, the king was informed that he was to have no contact with either the queen or Madame Élisabeth during his trial. This must have been heartbreaking enough, but the next set of conditions was nothing more than a cruel attempt to hurt the king. The terms dictated that the king could see his children if he wished, but they would subsequently be unable to return to the care of their mother during the trial. Cléry (1798) notes that in response to the presented terms, the king remarked:
“
you see the cruel alternative in which they place me; I cannot resolve to have my children with me; as for my daughter; it is impossible; as for my son; I feel the grief it would occasion the queen; I must consent to this fresh sacrifice”.
To this end, if the king wished to see his children, he would have to place them in a state of limbo while also depriving his wife of their company. In this way, he really had no choice in the matter.
The following day the King was presented the official arraignment, which consisted of over a hundred documents and took nearly eight hours to go through. From here, the king would diligently work with his counsel to prepare for his trial, all the while remarking on the distress caused by not being with his family. As noted by Cléry (1798), December 19th was particularly painful for the king. While preparing for the day, the king purportedly turned to Cléry and said to him, “
14 years ago you got up earlier than you did today – that was the day my daughter was born – and today, her birthday, I am deprived of seeing her”. The king, certain of his doomed fate, would spend Christmas day alone writing his last will and testament. No longer concerned with preserving his life, he focused his efforts entirely on seeing his family and doing what he could to ensure their proper care. The new year would come, and on the morning of January 1st, 1793, the king asked his wishes for a happy new year to be passed to his family, but he made no request to see them. When asked about this, he simply replied “
In a few days they will not refuse me that consolation; I must wait”. The king had accepted his perceived fate, and he even states it so clearly himself several times. For instance, when Cléry suggests hope that the king’s punishment may be limited to imprisonment or transportation, he replies, “
May they have that moderation for my family – It is only for them I fear”. On January 17th, the king would learn of his punishment – a public death by guillotine.
Final Farewell
The king’s fate was sealed. Nonetheless, his desire to protect his family persisted, and to this end, he intended to make several requests, such as the ability to see his family. At 2 PM, the Executive Council presented the king with the decrees made in the last five days. In response, the king took the decrees and handed the secretary a list of requests for their consideration. The first was that he would be given three days to prepare for his death, including the right to a priest who was free of later conviction. Next, he requested that the constant guard he found himself under be lifted and that he be allowed to see his family upon request without supervision. Concerning the fate of his family, he requested that the National Convention take up the matter immediately. Finally, he sought continued security for those who had served him, arguing that many men, women, and children were in harm as a result of his imprisonment. In the end, his request for three days of preparation, and the complete removal of his guard, would be declined. As a consolation, he was afforded a priest just before his execution and allowed to dine with his family in private, but the guard would keep a close watch through the glass partition in the dining area.
The king was prevented from seeing his family since December 11th and would only be granted a mere few hours with them before his execution. With great anticipation, the king entered the dining area and waited until 8:30 PM before his family finally arrived. The queen holding the hand of the young dauphin entered first, closely followed by Madame Élisabeth and Madame Royal. Upon seeing the king, they all ran and embraced him at once. Eventually, the family would settle around a small round table that allowed them to hold one another in half embrace. There were no witnesses inside the room, and no direct record of what was said exists. Cléry, who was just outside the partition, watched in distress as the king spoke, and the family broke out in fits of despair. There is little doubt that the king must have shared his tragic fate with his family.
The scene that unfolds at 10:15 is nothing short of heartbreaking. At this time, the king rises followed by the rest of his family. The queen clasps the king’s right arm and both hold the hand of the dauphin. Madame Royal clings to the king’s left side while Madame Élisabeth is slightly behind her grasping the king’s left arm. As a group, they take a few steps forward while sobbing in despair. The door opens and Cléry hears the king say “
I assure you that I will see you tomorrow at eight o’clock”. To which the family replies with “
You promise? ”. The king offers his reassurance which is rebuffed by the queen saying “
Why not seven o’clock? ”. The king aware of the pain this exchange is causing them replies with “
Well, then, yes at seven o’clock” after which according to Cléry the king then somewhat precariously said “
adieu”. In response, the sobs intensify and Madame Royal collapses and clasps her father’s feet. Once Madame Élisabeth and Cléry help Madame Royal back to her feet the king swiftly held them in an embrace before pleading “
Adieu, adieu”. He then turns and immediately returns to his chamber. The king would never see his family again.
The following morning the king handed Cléry several items and said “
give this seal to my son – and this ring to the queen; tell her that I part from it with pain and at the last moment”. The king continues “
Say to the queen, to my dear children, to my sister, that although I promised to see them this morning, I wish to spare them the pain of so cruel a separation – how much it pains me to go without receiving their last embrace”. Before exiting the Tower that had been his prison for so long, the king addressed the municipal at his side and said “
I desire that Cléry should remain with my son, who is accustomed to his care; I hope that the commune will accede my request”. His departure was marked by the sounds of trumpets and drums. The king was executed at 10:22 AM at which time salutes from artillery and cries of “
Vive la nation! ” erupted across Paris.
Obverse:
The obverse design depicts the conjoined busts of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette both facing left with Louis XVI at the forefront. Two large rolls of curled hair appear above his ear with a smaller less condensed role appearing just above them. His hair falls behind his neck tightly tied by a ribbon with one bow and only one visible loose end. Protruding from the ribbon, the hair flows in large curls behind his bust with one curl flowing under his truncation and another resting upon his right shoulder. His bust is draped and at the truncation of his shoulder the letters
C.H.K. appear. Partially obscured by her husband, Marie Antoinette’s hair is tightly gathered at the top of her head. A small crown denoted by a decorated band and five circular jewels rests upon a cushion of hair. A series of small curls can be seen protruding from the top. Her bust is draped in a gown with frilly lace. A large curl of hair rests upon her right shoulder. Likewise, a large curl of hair rests on her left shoulder. The obverse legend,
LUD • XVI D:G • FR • ET NAV • REX. MAR • ANT • AUSTR • REG • appears wrapped around the bust and closely fit to the innermost part of the inner rim. The phrase
FATI INIQUI appears in substantially smaller font immediately below the bust of Louis XVI. All of this is contained within a moderately broad raised outer rim. It is worth noting that the mark that appears in the field in front of the queen’s bust is on every specimen that I have examined. Although I am uncertain of what caused it, I have no doubt that it was a defect in the die which subsequently transferred to all struck specimens.
Reverse:
The reverse depicts the king’s heartbreaking farewell to his family the night before his execution. The scene presumably is occurring at the Tower. King Louis is depicted in the center in traditional attire. His left arm is extended resting upon the head of the young dauphin. The King’s glance is entirely occupied by his young son, who is on his knees gazing up at his father while clinging to his curtails. His feathered hat has fallen to the floor and rests on the ground to the left of the entire family. The queen is depicted wearing a traditional gown and is slightly hunched as she clings to her husband’s left side. Her head rests upon his left arm and her gaze is directed down. Immediately in front of the king’s left leg appears Madame Royal. She is resting on her knees and gazing up at her father with her left arm reaching towards his face. Madame Élisabeth appears in the background. Her face is obscured by a linen which she uses to wipe away her tears. To the right of the king appears either a door or a window. In the far distance a crowd can be seen gathered around a scaffold upon which rests a guillotine. A ribbon appears at the very top just above the family, it reads
AN EST DOLOR PAR DOLORI NOSTRO. The entire scene seemingly rests upon a cutaway which gives way to a sharp exergual line containing
C • H • KUCHLER . FEC •. Immediately below this a legend broken into four lines. The first line reads
NATUS XXIII AUG. MDCCLIV. Which is closely followed by
SUCC . X MAY MDCCLXXIV. on the second line. The third line reads
DECOLL . XXI JAN. and the fourth reads
MDCCXCIII. All of this is contained with a modestly thin inner rim and a slightly wider outer rim.
Edge: Plain
Size: 48mm
Notes:
The design of this medal is stunning, but this is only magnified by the high degree of preservation exhibited by the current example. Despite it being classified as a non-proof strike, the obverse has an undeniably strong cameo contrast. The reverse exhibits the same quality, but the frost is less pronounced and incomplete in several areas. It is interesting to note the discrepancy that arises between Cléry’s first-hand account of the final farewell and that depicted on the reverse of the medal. Of course, Küchler did not have the benefit of reading Cléry’s account. Nonetheless, his depiction was not wildly inaccurate. That of the queen is rather close to reality, but she appears on the wrong side, according to Cléry. Likewise, Madame Royal should appear on his left side. The placement of the dauphin and Madame Élisabeth are notably incorrect. On the medal, the dauphin is depicted on his knees, hanging on the curtails of the king’s right side; however, according to Cléry’s account, the dauphin’s hands were held by both the queen and king on his right side. Likewise, Madame Élisabeth was purportedly on his left side, slightly behind the rest, holding onto his left arm, but on the medal, she is weeping in the distance. Perhaps the biggest inaccuracy is the guillotine and the large crowd seen in the distance to the left behind the family. Remember, the king said his final farewell to the family the night before his death; therefore, this mob would not have already organized. Nonetheless, this addition adds another sense of despair which appropriately highlights the changing British opinion on the French Revolution.
References:
Cléry, M. (1798). A journal of occurrences at the temple, during the confinement of Louis XVI: King of France. By M. Cléry, Translated by R. C. Dallas. London: printed by Baylis, and sold by the author.
Pollard, J. G. (1970). Matthew Boulton and Conrad Heinrich Küchler. The Numismatic Chronicle, 10, 259-318.
Tungate, S. (2020) Matthew Boulton and The Soho Mint: copper to customer. Worcestershire: Brewin Books.